Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga by D.A. Randall (best books to read for beginners .TXT) 📗

my gaze on Jacquard as he tilted back another drink. Then I flicked my wrists, causing the silver blades to slide out from the top pockets in my gloves. They locked in place and I spread my fingers to hide them. If I closed my fists, the broad knives could be seen, extending just beyond my knuckles. With my palms open, Jacquard would never notice me sawing slowly through the ropes behind them. I just had to keep my movements slow and careful.

Fine, Pierre, I thought. They work just fine.

Shadows of clouds shifted across the floor, from the skylight cut into the overhead ceiling. I scraped away at the ropes, one fiber at a time. It maddened me to cut so slowly. But anything faster would draw Jacquard’s notice. Even more maddening, the ropes’ thickness ensured that I would be scraping through them, one gentle stroke after another, for hours. Of course, once they frayed most of the way, they should pull apart all at once. Then the crossbow would be back in my hands.

Jacquard jerked up suddenly, narrowing his eyes. I stood still, like a deer sensing a hunter’s presence. I locked eyes with Jacquard and held still.

“Not trying to wriggle free, are you, Mademoiselle?”

My heart stopped. I stood rigid, hoping he would not step closer.

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Jacquard lifted the flask to his lips, still watching me, then drank.

I felt a wave of relief as he swallowed and refilled his flask. I resumed my sawing motion, one slow cut at a time, barely moving my wrists. I wondered if I had even made progress, but I dared not glance at the ropes. I had to trust they were fraying, a little at a time, until Jacquard lost interest in me once more.

I prayed silent thanks that Laurent had chosen such a lazy guard. A more responsible man might have checked the ropes again to make certain they were secure. But Jacquard had no reason to imagine anything otherwise, not knowing Pierre’s cleverness.

Pierre. I had to free myself and warn him.

Warn Father Vestille and Touraine.

In my rush, my right hand blade wedged between fibers and jerked the rope. Jacquard glanced up, seeing the rope shake. I froze.

He almost smiled. “Go on. Try to pull free.”

I ignored him, but kept my whole body rigid. Waiting for him to ignore me as well.

“No?” he teased. “You’re not even going to try?” He chuckled to himself and poured another drink.

I had to slow down. I couldn’t save anyone if Jacquard discovered my actions. I relaxed my breathing and focused. The moment he drained another flask, I glanced to my right.

The rope had started to fray.

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I sawed at it again, seeing new fibers sprout up. Given enough time, I could free myself. I just had to remain calm and patient.

An hour later – judging from the shadows beneath me – I had scraped halfway through each rope. A few more strokes and the remaining fibers would start to shred. So long as Jacquard kept his distance for the next hour, I could pounce on him before he knew what happened. The silent crossbow still waited on the ground for me. Just a little more time and steady work …

Jacquard sat back on the platform, still sipping from the flask in his hand. Over the last several minutes, his study of me had grown more intense. I eventually stopped worrying whether he could see my blades working. Though he watched my every movement, he could not see the silver shafts behind my palms, or the ropes slowly severing behind them.

Yet he focused on me more than ever, while his head bobbed a little from all his liquor.

He spent several minutes observing my boots alone. And of course, my trousers, which barely covered my legs.

He took